


Stanford

by SlaveToGravity



Series: The joy of experimentation - Joshler - [3]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Adult's game, Because it really hits me in the feels each time I read it, Bullying, Children, Kindergarten AU, M/M, Stanford's experiment, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToGravity/pseuds/SlaveToGravity
Summary: And at this specific moment, Tyler thinks that, adults or not, humans are the same. They can only do harm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ~  
> I'm trying to work on somethin else but really, I'm not in the mood to learn my lessons. I should though, because each time I go to history class, I start to panic and end up crying, having panic attacks. And sometimes, I wish I could drown instead of going to school. But whatever, I like to write. Good luck with this one.

          He runs. He runs faster, faster, each step, each new foot on the ground, it makes him run faster, makes him feel the despair and the panic every blow can inject. He's scared, he feels the hands, the sharpened knives on his skin and the painful hits on hus feet, his hands, his back, his head. He feels the dried blood on his cheeks, he feels the sickness growing in his stomach. He feels everything, every sensation, every emotion. But more than his body, more than only that, he hears the footsteps running after him, he hears te voices yelling, screaming at the top of their lungs for him to come back, for him to stop, for him to give up. And he's too scared to stop, he's too scared to give up now, just now. He fears their skinny hands which only do harms, he fears their tasers which seems to stop his heart and his mind at the same time, he fears the blows he will endure if he stops, the blows he doesn't deserve, the pain he never deserved in the first place. He fears the situation he is in and regrets only saying "yes", thinking it was a good idea to come here. He remembers his friend's face, on the other side of the glass, saying "no", not wanting to come for this long. He remembers his voice, his face, the disappointment in his mocha eyes. " You could have choosen better, Ty ", and he remembers as they separated, one saying it was a bad idea, one claiming that no, it was for science. Science my ass.  
          Tyler now craves the touch of his friend, his gaze, his voice. He craves warmth, he craves love, he craves attention. He craves what humanity should give him, what a human needs. But instead, humanity throws him on the concrete, face first, yelling at him for a thing he strongly thinks he never did, because humanity is a notion that never existed in the first place. Oh, how he craves his friend's voice saying that, reminding him that humans are fucked up, screwed from the bones. " Josh was right " Tyler thinks, " Right all along ". And he craves, as any other day, his friend's presence.  
          But right now, Tyler can only run. He runs, his feet flying, hitting, naked, every sharp rock piercing his thin skin, tracing bloody marks behind him. And right now, dressed but naked, running away, at night, from the evil sorcerer, he feels like the Petit Poucet in his forest. But instead of braid, it is his bloody footprints that is marking his path.  
          " You can't run " they say, "You can't run away from us " they scream, " We're gonna catch you " they claim. Heartless students in an officer's costume, sticks, flashlights, tasers and hats too big for their young hands and brainless heads, they sing what people their age shouldn't even think. Tyler can't excuse them, Tyler can't find them something, an excuse, to say things as awful as that so naturally. He can hear them laugh behind him, he can sense their excitation, their enthusiastic heartbeats, he can feel their hands creeping on his beaten back. He wants to get away, he wants to fly, to reach for the sky, but he can't look up anymore, the lights blaring around him are too bright for his tired eyes. He can't even look in front of him. He can't see, he doesn't know where he is running. He'll trip, he'll hit a wall, he'll stupidly fall. All he knows is that, at a moment, he'll reach the end of his run, and he'll be trapped, trapped like a rabbit, fearing the dogs behind him, with their yellow teeth strained in blood, with their salivas and fresh flesh mixing, drooling from their wide opened mouths. All he knows is that he'll be eaten at the end of his run.  
          Suddenly, he doesn't hear footsteps anymore. He turns around, stopping, catching his breath. They're all breathing heavily, sticks in sweaty hands, on the ground, tired from their chase. They look defeated, they look exhausted, despair from not catching a prey that looks so frightened by not even a gun. They pout, they stand up, they curse, and they go back. Tyler's heart jumps in relief, he sighs heavily, letting out a breath he didn't know he held all this time, and he falls back, butt on the ground, not caring a minute about the rocks cutting his skin, what's remaining of his pants. He silently thanks his lucky star for letting him run long enough for him to escape those rich and stupid kids. Kids has always been stupid, Josh always says, don't be scared of them. And, really, Tyler, for once, shouldn't have listened to Josh.  
          He feels hands on his back, ones blocking his arms, other attacking his neck. He feels tazers alactrocuting his legs, his penis, his hips. He feels fingertips touching his skin, raping his privacy, he feels even more naked now that his pants are gone, that the remaining textile hiding his shame has been thrown away, forbidden by his keepers. And he remembers, now, why he shouldn't have listened to Josh. Kids are stupid when they're young, not when they're adults. Tyler wants to cry. But strangely, blood's replacing the common tears he should feel.  
          And suddenly, it all hits him. The pain, the shame, the regret, and what feels like death, maybe, the anticipation of everything, of every new sensation on his burning skin. He hears the laugher, he hears the creepy sounds, the clicking of tongues against the top of their mouths, their teeth hitting each other not in a cold way but an evil one, he hears their voices, telling him how ugly he is, how much of a whore he looks like, naked, skin cuts wide open and erection from the pain and coldness. They tell him to die but to wait, they tell him to live enough again for them to torture him a little longer. He doesn't want to let them, he doesn't want to feel them, his body is not theirs, it's Josh's, only Josh's, no one else, and he screams that, but they yell back, saying that a man shouldn't love a man, and he tries to fight back bu he can't, he can't he can't he can't.  
          Pain goes away in a flash. The hands stop. The curious and vicious hands stop. They laugh and they yell, then they run away, the adults become kids again. the kids they should be. Tyler can't move with them, can't run away that far. He crawls a little but the rocks stop him. Their hard skin, as black as coal, cut and cut and cut senselessly his thin, dirty tan skin, scarring his loved tattoos made out of pencil ink by Josh himself, marking his flesh maybe for the rest of his miserable life. He tries to cry, but his throat and eyes are too dry, he can only breath dust and what seems like smoke. Smoke made by sand, sand flying because of foot, foot running his way, tiny feet followed by large feet. Tyler is scared. But he suddenly feels a hand, a tiny hand, gentle, warm, with firm fingers soothing him. A voice, one of a child, resonates in his ears. It's Josh, the little voice of Josh, asking him something he can't recognize, he can't understand. It doesn't sound english, it doesn't sound like language at all. Yet he can recognize the cries of a kid, of Josh, he can feel the droplets falling on his skin. Then the hands of an adult take him, hands of a woman. The hands put his head against a heartbeat, the heartbeat of his mother. His mother cries, too, and starts to walk fastly to a place Tyler doesn't know. He opens his sore eyes to see what is not a prison but a kindergarten, with games, with children, all looking at him, at his frail body slowly dying. He sees Josh, little Josh, a little older than him, following with his little legs his big, giant mother. Tyler, seeing the blue sky of the morning above his head, tries to reach for it, but he can't. He's too tired.   
          And at this specific moment, Tyler thinks that, adults or not, humans are the same. They can only do harm.

**Author's Note:**

> So, how's it going ? Everything's good ? I hope you're all a-ok, doing great, having a great and lovely life. I wish you the best, I wish you good luck, I wish you the best life uou can have. Kiss o your cheeks.  
> Thanks for reading and, once again (I should really stop asking that) if there are any mistakes, please tell me. I try to read it again (and when I doubt, I google it but ush, it's a secret) but sometimes, it escapes my eyes.
> 
> Stay alive my frens. I love you all.


End file.
